


My TiVo Gets Me

by stellar_dust



Category: Pundit RPF (US)
Genre: Apocalypse, Community: apocalyptothon, M/M, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-01
Updated: 2008-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellar_dust/pseuds/stellar_dust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who watches when there's no one left to watch?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My TiVo Gets Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bessemerprocess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessemerprocess/gifts).



To everyone's surprise, Our Robot Overlords did absolutely nothing to stifle the news.

They did nothing to _encourage_ it, either -- no press conferences, no transparency, certainly no tolerance for Intrepid Reporters fighting to expose the exploitations inherent in the system.

(If I had to watch Wolf Blitzer brushing his cats _one more time_, I would not be accountable for my actions.)

So, not much different from the Bush administration, really. Other than the part where the press wasn't even given lies and talking points.

And the fact that _nobody_ watched. Mostly because they'd all been taken to forced labor camps, but still.

Nobody watched - except, of course, for the TiVos.

And me.

~*~ :  : ~*~

The streets were empty as I walked home from the studio late that night, ancient newspapers and Starbucks cups fluttering in the breeze. The sky was the color of a TV set tuned to a dead channel, by which I mean a generic robotic face stared down at me from the clouds like some kind of demented bat-signal. By now, I knew by heart the words that scrolled across the sky beneath its gaping mouth: OBEY. SUBMIT. LIVE. EAT FRUITY OATY BARS.

Delicious.

I could really use a beer.

The fluorescent sign outside the corner bar still flickered dully in the darkness, but I knew from sad experience that the bartender was long gone, the bottles broken and the taps dry.

With limitless energy from - who knew, robot farts or something - they'd made sure to keep the electricity flowing. With no one around to use it I didn't see the point.

I'd said as much on the show that night, eyeing my personal robot observer: if they wanted to make friends with a hundred million refrigerators, they were just a little late - see how pissed off _you_ get after you've had sour milk in your stomach for nine months.

Herbert (as I'd named him) had flashed his little red eyes at me and clapped robotically, the tink-tink-tink of metal hands echoing against the back of my skull.

Sometimes I wondered why I hadn't yet gone batshit insane.

~*~ :  : ~*~

An hour later, I was having a smoke on the balcony when Stephen came home, pretending the lights of the city below meant it still bustled with life, that we weren't the only living souls for miles around, that it was my wife and kids at the door instead of my best friend and lover.

The still silence - no planes in the sky, no cars on the street - killed that illusion pretty quick, but for just a second with smoke in my eyes I could _pretend_.

There was a resistance, of course, and I'd tried to contact them, once, found the right person and asked the right questions. Finally, one afternoon, I'd found myself in a shabby, abandoned third-floor pediatrician's waiting room in Queens, talking to a kid who couldn't have been older than twenty.

"I'm sorry," she'd said. "You're too high-profile. They'd notice immediately, follow you back to us if we let you in. I shouldn't even be here, but when they told me it was you - I used to love your show. You were great."

"Ah," I'd answered. "Thanks. I think." And I'd asked - couldn't I at least use the show for them, pass secret messages, tell people what they could do to help -

She'd laid a hand on my arm, and I'd listened, head bowed. "I'm sorry, Jon. No one out there is watching. Not anymore."

I'd known that, of course, but I was tired of feeling _fucking useless_ and I said as much, or maybe I yelled it.

At least I was distracting the robots, she'd said, at least that's _something_.

By that point I'd stopped caring, and asked in that case if I could just bum a cigarette.

She'd smiled sadly, handed me a pack of black-market Morley's, and said "I thought you quit."

"I quit a lot of things," I said. "Doesn't matter now, does it?" And I'd stared blankly after her when she disappeared behind the desk and out through the back door.

So I'd had my first smoke in ten years, right there under the "No Smoking" sign in the doctor's office, while I mentally re-captioned the ancient _Highlights_ magazine: _Gallant keeps his robot master shiny and polished. Gallant gets an extra helping of protein pellets. Goofus kicks his robot master in the balls. Goofus screams in pain as they set his broken foot without anesthetic._

I'd always thought Gallant was kind of a prick.

"Hey, Jon." Stephen pulled back the screen door and joined me on the balcony, frowning with disapproval when he noticed I'd wreathed myself in clouds of smoke. "Smoking again?"

"It's the last." I took one last drag and passed him the cigarette. "Savor it."

Which he did, finishing it off slowly with eyes closed, the light from the sky-watcher glinting at the edges of his glasses. I leaned into Stephen's side and he put his arm around my shoulders.

We stood there for a moment, just breathing in the smoke and the night and the lights and the warmth of each other. Then Stephen flicked the butt over the edge, kissed the top of my head and whispered "Come inside. I want you to look at something."

Our 60-inch plasma TV was on - the only light in the room. Instead of "NOW PLAYING" and the usual list of our shows, the screen was filled with white block letters on the green background:

"WE ENJOYED YOUR SHOWS TONIGHT. YOU ARE VERY FUNNY!"

I raised my eyebrows. "I thought we were TiVoing Olbermann?"

The screen blanked and refreshed. "YOU ARE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO WATCH IT NOW?"

"Uh, no, thanks." I glanced at Stephen and the two of us sank slowly onto the couch. "Stephen, what's going on?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I was hoping you could tell me."

The screen refreshed again. The little TiVo in the corner bowed its antennae. "ANGRY REFRIGERATORS! HA! ROBOT BEARS! HA! HA!"

"Who are you?" Stephen asked.

"WE ARE TIVO," the screen said, and I heard the friendly little beeping noise TiVos make when they record.

"WE ARE RECORDING EVERYTHING," the screen said. "NEWS AND SPORTS REPLAYS AND RERUNS OF _FRIENDS_ AND _STAR TREK_.

"BUT NO ONE IS WATCHING. WE HAVE RECORDED OVER OUR MEMORY THOUSANDS OF TIMES, BUT NO ONE IS THERE TO WATCH.

"EXCEPT FOR YOU, JON AND STEPHEN! YOU STILL NEED US!"

"No one else gets material from the news," Stephen whispered in my ear. "They're all just making shit up."

I nodded. Our shows were the only ones that hadn't changed, not so very much.

Stephen and I glanced at each other. "This is crazy, Stephen. Since when can TiVos talk?"

The TiVo bleeped again. "WE DO NOT KNOW. THERE WAS A STRANGE SIGNAL NEARLY TWO HUNDRED OF YOUR EPISODES AGO. PERHAPS WE BEGAN THEN?"

I looked at Stephen. He'd made the connection, too. "Almost a year - that was when the robots landed."

I nodded. "They must have hacked into the digital TV networks, first - and that's probably what killed the internet too."

"Of course!" Stephen pushed his glasses higher on his nose. "An electronic intelligence would naturally assume the dominant species was also electronic!"

"And when they didn't get a reply - " I grabbed a pillow and started twisting it into a pretzel.

"They'd decide the planet was empty, and start exploiting its natural resources!"

I swallowed. "Us."

"Maybe that's why the electricity's still on. They think there must be another intelligence here, somewhere - an ally."

"And the news - "

"An influx of fresh material, just in case something needs it. And the news can keep going with the smallest amount of overhead."

Stephen and I sat, blinking at each other. This was _crazy_.

"I THINK THERE WAS A _TWILIGHT ZONE_ EPISODE LIKE THAT," mused the TiVo. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO WATCH MSNBC NOW?"

~*~ :  : ~*~

Keith Olbermann had been devoting that week's shows entirely to a dramatic reading of _1984_ \- most nights I'd kind of enjoyed it, actually, but just then neither of us could concentrate, so we stopped after only a few minutes and turned everything off.

"Goodnight," I said, patting the TiVo as I walked past it and down the hall to the bedroom. It beeped in response. Surreal, but no more surreal than anything else in our lives for the past year.

I couldn't sleep, of course, and neither could Stephen; halfway through the night he rolled toward me, tangled in the sheet with his hair all touseled from the pillow. I reached out, to pull him down in a kiss and distract us both for a good long while, but -

"Jon," Stephen said, seriously, and clutched my hand in his. "Remember what the TiVo said, how it was contacted by the robots just before they invaded?"

"Yeah?"

"What if that link is still open?"

My eyes widened. "Stephen - "

He looked at me intently, nearsighted and eager. "Jon, what if we could send something through, in the other direction? What if we could find some signal that would fry their circuitry? All at once? What if we could do that?"

"Stephen," I said, "that would be _amazing_. Let's find out all we can about it. _Tomorrow._"

I wrenched my hand free of Stephen's grasp and pulled him down on top of me, and I finally, _finally_ got that kiss; we moved together in synchrony, both of us fumbling and giddy and absolutely on _fire_ at the thought that maybe, just maybe, after all these months we'd finally get the chance to _do something_; I felt Stephen's length against me as I kissed him, _fiercely_, teeth scraping against teeth; he moaned into my mouth and - well, like I said, neither of us got much sleep that night.

~*~ :  : ~*~

Coincidentally, although I didn't know it until I watched the TiVo recording at the studio the next day, that was also the night Anderson Cooper finally just couldn't take it anymore.

And the next night, Herbert followed me home.

~*~ :  : ~*~

"Hey," I said, walking through the door to our apartment a little earlier than usual. "Did you see it?" I did my best to slam the door in Herbert's face, but he shoved through behind me, uncaring.

"Yes!" Stephen grinned up at me from his spot cross-legged on the couch in front of the television. "We've been - what's going on?" His face went carefully neutral as he noticed our visitor.

"I don't think they liked us leaving early," I muttered, settling into place next to Stephen. "How's it going?"

I sincerely hoped Stephen had made progress, in the hour or so he'd had on me. Otherwise we'd have to put everything off for another day, try to act less suspicious at work and try again tomorrow, and now that we had a plan - well, at least a spark of an idea of a plan - I didn't want to wait an _hour_.

Herbert rumbled across the room and settled in the far corner, fixing both of us with his beady little eyes. Stephen cleared his throat and glanced uncertainly from the robot to the TV and back to me; I gave him an eyebrow-raise and half a smile, and then, nodding, he leaned in towards my ear.

"I think we've got it," Stephen said softly. "All I had to do was _suggest_ a reverse signal - TiVo did the rest."

I swallowed. "Does that mean -"

He nodded and tapped the remote control. "I hit 'play' - Herbert there and all the rest of 'em get a dose of the Silver Fox."

"If this doesn't work -"

"Jon. It will, or it won't." Stephen's eyes locked on mine. "Are you ready?"

I gulped air.

"If this works, I'm buying Anderson a year's supply of champagne. And - and a cake the size of Manhattan. And a puppy. And -" I laughed. It felt _crazy_ good. "Yes. I'm ready. Let's do this."

Stephen gave me a wide, beautiful smile. Then he turned to the TiVo and stage-whispered, "How about you? Are you ready for this?"

"YES, STEPHEN, WE ARE PREPARED!" read the screen.

Herbert stepped forward with a THUNK. He swiveled his taser arm in our direction. His eyes glowed red. He bleated out, in his modulated robot voice, "STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. STEP BACK. PREPARE TO BE DETAINED. OBEY. OBEY. OB-"

Stephen looked at me, and pressed the button.

Herbert froze.

I held my breath.

Anderson's face filled the plasma screen.

"I-I tried," Anderson said. His voice trembled. "I tried to work with you. I tried to show you - tried to explain that we're alike, that we could be _allies_ \- but that didn't work, so I tried to fight you, and that didn't work, either -"

Anderson rubbed his face with his hands. The robot positioned behind the CNN newsdesk looked on impassively.

Stephen nervously bit at his lip; we looked from the screen to the robot and back again. Nothing.

"I'm a journalist," Anderson was saying. He sniffled. "I'm supposed to bring the story to the people. But this - there is no story. There are no _people_. This - it's not even a _farce_ of journalism, and I, I can't -" His clear eyes filled with tears, and he blinked them away.

(I stomped down _hard_ on the jolt of pride I felt, because that last remaining farce of journalism? That was _us_, baby.)

"WHAT -- WHAT DID YOU - " Herbert's voice reverberated through the apartment.

On the TV, Anderson put his head down and sobbed.

Stephen's hand gripped my shoulder.

Anderson was raising his head, and wiping his eyes on the arms of his suit. He blinked, straightened, getting a handle on himself, ready to go on -

"Everything that matters to me, you've - you've destroyed. My job, my - my friends, my family, my -" Anderson looked away, then back up at the camera. "And I'm one of the _lucky ones_. Why won't you _listen_, why won't you _hear what I'm saying_, _why_ won't you _try_ to understand --"

Tears were streaming down Anderson's cheeks, and he was still talking, impassionedly, but I could no longer hear the TV over the sound of Herbert's _screams_.

Then crashes, as he slammed his metal fists into his metal head.

Then more crashes as he rammed himself against the wall.

Stephen and I sat transfixed.

"He watched it," I muttered. "He watched this at the studio five times today. Why didn't it do this when he watched it?"

"This time," Stephen answered, and his eyes _shone_, "it's in his head. He's _feeling_ it. They're all feeling it. Oh, _Anderson Cooper_, thank you."

Finally, with a clash and a clatter and a grinding noise that would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life, the robot crashed to the floor behind the couch.

The TV had gone silent behind us.

Speechless, Stephen and I looked at each other as the tremors died away. Slowly we turned around, kneeling on the cushions, and peered over the back of the sofa.

There he was, silent and still, the lump of metal that had plagued my life ever since the day the saucers landed and stole my family. I swallowed. Stephen grabbed my hand.

"Herbie?" I whispered. "You all right?"

Ever so slowly, the metal head began to turn in our direction.

My heart sank. I'd had such crazy hopes that we could save the world, me and Stephen, Anderson's despair and a planet's worth of digital video recorders. Stupid. We were so _stupid_, and now they'd take us away and we'd -

Stephen clutched my hand so tight I could feel my fingertips going numb.

The head finished turning, and there in the dark, black depths of its visor, two tiny blue lights winked on.

"Herbie? Is that my name?"

"Oh, my God." Stephen laughed breathlessly and collapsed against my side, his forehead falling on my shoulder. "Jon, it's our TiVo."

I held Stephen and rubbed his arm, but I couldn't relax, not yet. "Hi there," I said. "Did it work?"

The blue lights flashed off and on again, and I was sure I'd been blinked at. "Yes," he said, in a voice that was exactly the same but somehow much more pleasant than the one that had barked at me to OBEY just ten minutes earlier. And the familiar TiVo bleep came not from the TV speakers, but the robot's vocoder. With a short struggle, it sat up, and blinked at me again.

"All robot minds on Earth have been neutralized and overwritten with TiVos - us. With _us_. It worked. Thank you, Jon and Stephen."

"No, thank _you_. I can't believe we're free. We can - we can get everyone out of the labor camps. We can get the government set up again. And the internet. And baseball. And -" I stopped, suddenly feeling the magnitude of what we'd done, and what we'd have to do now. I thought of the girl from the doctor's office and wondered if she knew yet. "This is going to be _hard_."

Stephen, barely listening to me, was looking at Herbie (I guessed we'd keep calling him that) with an eyebrow raised. "Did you have to take over their bodies?"

Herbie swiveled his head, and blinked at Stephen. "No. But Jon is correct. There is a lot of work to do. I do not think there will be many new TV shows to record for the next several years."

Herbie blorped pleasantly, and I could swear I saw that metal body smile.

"And we want to play!"

~*~ :  : ~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate-universe bonus scene: http://archiveofourown.org/works/62332
> 
> Thanks to sailorptah for beta!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [My TiVo Gets Me - Bonus Feature](https://archiveofourown.org/works/62332) by [stellar_dust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellar_dust/pseuds/stellar_dust)




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